


A Working Weekend

by AwkwardTiming



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Nanny, Boys Kissing, Hand Jobs, Hotel Sex, M/M, Medical Professionals
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-01
Updated: 2015-07-01
Packaged: 2018-04-07 01:54:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4245084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AwkwardTiming/pseuds/AwkwardTiming
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John needs a nanny for his son while he attends a medical conference in Brighton. Sherlock needs a reason to be at the conference. Lestrade makes the connection.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Working Weekend

**Author's Note:**

> 1) I am terrible at summaries and titles. My apologies.  
> 2) please feel free to suggest additional tags. Or something more useful for title or summary.  
> 3) minor edits as of 5/15 to fix formatting and spacing. And the image that I didn't realise hadn't linked correctly.
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read!

**Tuesday, 25 June 5:26PM**

Dr. John H. Watson, former military, newest doctor at Holloway Medical Clinic, was having a bad day. Not the worst day (the day his father died), or the second worst (the day he got shot and invalided home), but a bad day. Possibly right under the day he’d married the she-witch that was his soon-to-be-ex-wife.

“No, tell her I’m not signing the sodding papers tonight. Tonight, I need to sort out something to do with Benjamin during the conference since she’s clearly not joining me and didn’t actually secure the services of a nanny like she promised.” There was a pause. “Well, that’s really not my fucking –“

“Dr. Watson?” there was a small tap on the door before Sarah poked her head around. “We still have patients,” she said softly and smiled at the look of apology that flitted across his face and ducked away before it could grow angry again.

“Well, she will just have to accept it. Monday is the soonest I can be there to sign. She can wait a few more days.” He ended the call, turned his phone back to silent, took ten slow, deep breaths, then buzzed for his next patient.

\----

Across town, Greg Lestrade was also having a rather unpleasant time of it. He had all six feet of a petulant consulting detective hurling insults at him.

With a great deal of patience (and more than a hint of exasperation), Lestrade interrupted the younger man’s rant. “Sherlock, I cannot magically find a way for you to attend an incredibly private medical conference. You do not have a medical degree – and no, your degree in chemistry does not count. The case is for your brother, I thought. Perhaps you should see him about forging credentials.”

“He won’t help me,” from anyone else, Lestrade would have described the tone as aggrieved.

“Why on earth not?” Lestrade shook his head as Sherlock opened his mouth. “Never mind. Alright. Let me make some calls. Come back tomorrow at 1. No. Don’t argue with me and don’t call me between now and then. I’ll figure something out, but you interrupting me won’t help.”

 

**Wednesday, 26 June 1:00 PM – precisely**

 

“I trust you have a solution.”

Lestrade returned the sandwich he’d been about to bite into to the wrapper in front of him. It had been foolish to hope that Sherlock would run late.

As Sally Donovan entered the room, out of breath from running, Lestrade acknowledged to himself that it had also been foolish to hope that she’d for get his promise that she could be there for this.

“You weren’t going to wait,” she accused.

“Wait for what?” Sherlock asked.

She grinned. It wasn’t attractive – it made her look more than slightly manic.

“I have a –” Lestrade’s hesitation was reasonable. Expected. “I have a solution. I have one single solution that I’ve been able to find to get you in. There are no back-ups. So either this works for you or I’m sorry, but you’ll have to figure out some other way to solve it.”

“Fine, yes. Get on with it. What magical solution have you worked out to get me credentials to be there as a doctor.”

Sally giggled. Lestrade shot her a warning look. She stopped, but with some effort.

“You will not, I’m afraid, be an attendant of the conference itself. Dr. John Watson has agreed to take you in place of his spouse.”

“Flattering though it is to think I may be mistaken for a woman –”

“Oh, no,” provided Sally before Lestrade could explain. “You’re going to be the nanny.”

The single, raised eyebrow spoke volumes.

Lestrade cleared his throat. “Dr. Watson is former military. He has been made aware of the situation and has agreed to provide you with the necessary credentials to be there for the weekend in exchange for your help with his son. This file will give you the information you will need on both Dr. Watson and his son, Hamish. As soon as you confirm who the killer is, you will need to contact me so that I may make arrangements with the local office."

“Very well.”

It would be difficult to say who was more surprised at the lack of argument from the man – Lestrade, who nearly choked on the sip of tea he’d taken, or Sally, who actually fell off her perch on the edge of Lestrade’s desk.

Lestrade recovered first. “Right, well. You will meet Dr. Watson and his son at their flat tomorrow morning at 7. From there you will accompany them to Brighton for the conference. Dr. Watson knows the suspected target from his military service and will help you identify him in person once there. You will be free to investigate any time the child is with his father, but you will need to –”

“Ensure the child’s health and safety otherwise. Yes, Lestrade. I am generally aware of the responsibilities of a nanny, having been raised by a veritable legion of them. I will use my regular alias for these situations. Is there anything else?”

“Er. No. The contact information you will need is in the file. I can let him know to expect you.”

Sherlock nodded, stood and tucked the file under his arm, and left.

“Well. That should be interesting. I’d love to be a fly on the wall there this weekend,” Sally’s tone was amused. She had, evidently, got over the initial surprise of Sherlock’s ready agreement.

“Yes.” Lestrade watched the younger man leave the building, sending prayers to any deity he’d ever heard of to prevent this blowing up in his face. He picked up the phone to call Dr. Watson.

\----

Across town, John was attempting to eat his own lunch. He set his sandwich down with a sign and answered the phone when it rang.

“Dr. Watson," he said in his best "I'm a doctor, you can trust me" voice.

“Hello, this is DI Lestrade. We spoke earlier.”

“Oh. Right, yes. Hello.”

“The man I mentioned has accepted your offer.”

“Great. Saves me the trouble of sorting out a sitter.”

“Yeah,” the man on the other end of the line hesitated and John found himself frowning. “Listen, are you sure?” the DI asked.

“I thought you said this was your only option for him to attend.”

“It is a bit, just. He’s not really much one for children and he can be a bit, well, difficult.”

“It’s only three days. How bad can it really be?”

“If you change your mind, just give me a call at the number I provided earlier.”

Lestrade rang off before John could register that the DI hadn’t answered the half-jokingly asked question.

 

**Thursday, 27 June, 6:37AM**

 

John frowned at the knock on his door. It was too early for the detective who would be acting as his nanny for the weekend. He rather hoped it was just Mr. Carruthers asking for sugar again and not his – not the divorce papers again.

It was neither Mr. Carruthers nor the divorce papers, but a man who completely took his breath away as he opened the door. _Well. That hasn’t happened in years_ , John thought as he stared up at the dark haired man in suit trousers and a grey dress shirt, carrying a small weekend bag.

Clearing his throat, he said, “Yes? Can I help you?”

“You are Dr. Watson?” At John’s nod, the man continued, “I am Sherlock Holmes. I believe you have been in contact with DI Lestrade.”

 _Right. Potential murder._ John smiled and stepped back to open the door wider. “Oh. Oh, yes. Come in.” _This man is going to be the nanny? He looks too young and too posh by half._

Sherlock saw the child playing on the blanket. “That is Hamish, I presume?”

“What?” John looked toward the child on the floor. “Oh. Yes. Well, except he’s called Benjamin – Benny. His mother named him Hamish after me,” he said with a small grimace at the last.

“For you?” Sherlock studied John’s face. John nodded. “Ah. John H. Watson. It’s your middle name, but you don’t like it.” Sherlock nodded to himself. “I see. Benjamin it is.”

John would have encouraged Sherlock to call him Benny, but at his name being said again, Benjamin looked up. “Bee!”

If John had thought the man attractive before, he was made astoundingly so at the quick grin that lit his previously rather stern face when Benjamin spoke. Sherlock walked over to crouch down at the edge of the blanket. “Are you called Bee, then? I will be Will this weekend. Bees are among my most favourite things, you know.”

“Wow,” Benjamin said seriously and handed Sherlock the block he had in his hand.

With all the seriousness due such an exchange, Sherlock said thank you, then looked up at John. “I don’t know if Lestrade said, but I will be William Scott this weekend.”

“Right,” John cleared his throat. “Right, yes. That’s fine. Do you – do you have children?”

“What? No.” Sherlock set the block down carefully on the stack Benjamin was making and stood again.

“Oh.” There was a knock on the door. Sherlock’s eyes met John’s and they both frowned. Sherlock positioned himself between the child and the door as John went to answer it.

“Mary,” John said, not stepping back from the door to open it wider and admit the newcomer.

Which did not deter the woman at the door. She stepped in by simple expediency of pushing the door open herself. “John, good morning.” Her pleasant tone was belied by her aggressive body language and the fact that John seemed less than thrilled to see her.

If Sherlock was surprised to see a petite blonde all but force her way into the living room, he said nothing. Even less surprising was the child who tugged at the leg of his trousers to be picked up by a stranger rather than going toward the woman Sherlock assumed was the mother. He bent and picked the child up.

“What are you doing here?” John asked, eyes fixed on the woman.

Reading the situation as potentially volatile, but also noticing the envelope of papers she had, Sherlock walked with Benjamin toward the kitchen.

“Just sign the papers, John,” Sherlock called over his shoulder. “We’ll have a more pleasant weekend if you do.”

“Who the hell is that?” Sherlock heard Mary say.

“Language, Mary,” John said repressively, then hesitated only slightly, “Will.”

“So you rail on about me and –”

“Of course I did. You’re my wife.”

“Oh, and you exposing our son to your –”

“Mary, he’s the nanny.”

“Like hell he is. In those clothes?”

“What does how he dresses have to do with anything?”

In the kitchen, Sherlock found what he was looking for – a pen sitting on top the crossword that John had been doing. Picking it up, he walked back to where John and Mary stood, fuming silently at each other.

“Here,” he said, handing the pen to John. “No reason to wait.”

Without looking up at Sherlock, John took the pen, then took the file of papers from Mary’s hand and carried both to the table. Sherlock watched him go then looked back down at Mary.

Mary addressed John, her eyes still on Sherlock. “What I don’t understand is why you made a fuss about me finding a nanny for this weekend when you clearly already have someone willing to fill the position.”

“He’s only just arrived.”

“For the morning, maybe. But Hamish –“

“Benjamin.”

“His name is Hamish, whether you like it or not, John. Although really, you might have mentioned you didn’t like it before I named him. As I was saying, Hamish clearly likes him and he’s terrible with strangers, so obviously he’s met your Will before.” Once Mary stopped looking at him, Sherlock went back to the kitchen and retrieved John’s tea. Giving it a sniff – cream, no sugar, completely vile – he took it back with him to where John and Mary were still standing.

“He’s quite good with strangers. He’s just terrible with you and your horridly shrill friends.” John finished signing the last page, clearly having not read any of the documents, “Here. Go. We have places to be.”

Sherlock made a note to ask Mycroft to check to make sure everything was as it should be in the divorce papers signed by the former Mrs. Watson. And refused to think why it would be that he thought this man needed any sort of help with his affairs. He wasn’t generally inclined to get involved.

He suspected his brother’s response would be something along the lines of, “Not my problem,” or “Petty civil matters are hardly worth my time,” but Sherlock knew he’d do it anyway.

“Your tea?” Sherlock said, handing John the mug, standing to John’s left, Benjamin still balanced on his hip.

“Ta.” John took it, took a sip, and smiled up at Sherlock appreciating the show of support provided by his presence in the room.

“I’ll just see myself out then?” Mary said, looking between the two of them, the file of papers in her hands.

“Yes, best do,” Sherlock replied finally looking over to Mary. “We have a conference to get to, after all. Bee and I need to finish packing up our toys.”

Mary huffed and left. John watched her go, then looked bemusedly to where Sherlock was now tidying the toys spread across the blanket where Benjamin had been playing. “I can do that.”

Sherlock shrugged. “As it will be my responsibility for the weekend, I may as well get used to it. Plus, you still need to finish packing and it is now 7:15.”

“Christ, you’re right. Yes. I’ll just – thanks. I’ll be right back.”

John would have been completely unsurprised to find that Sherlock hadn’t heard him at all for all the acknowledgement the man gave him. He wondered how Sherlock had known he hadn’t finished packing yet.

He threw his clothes – neatly laid out on the bed – haphazardly into his bag while wondering what sort of man Sherlock was and suppressing the wayward thoughts of _Hope Springs Eternal_ and _maybe a complete change is in order going forward_. And ignoring the much more sensible _or maybe being completely single for a while would be for the best given how poorly that’s just ended_.

After all, perhaps the gorgeous man was straight. Or married. Or not interested in short, older men with enough baggage to last a lifetime.

Besides, a medical conference that he was attending with his son, who would be in the same room – hardly romantic or the time to start something, even if –

“John, not to rush you, but we should probably be going soon,” Sherlock called.

“Right,” John called back. Coming out from his room, John looked to Sherlock, sitting in a chair with Benjamin and a book in his lap. Clearing his throat, John asked, “Did you want a cup of tea or anything? I thought I’d make one for myself to go. Should be enough time for that.”

“Two sugars, no milk.”

John smiled. “Right.” He turned the kettle on and turned around to engage Sherlock in conversation only to find Sherlock was thoroughly engaged in softly explaining the anatomy of anemone to Benjamin.

“Feish!”

“Yes, that is a clown fish – Amphiprion ocellaris – also known as anemonefish. They live in symbiosis with anemone.”

“Nee!”

“Yes, anemone. Very good. This one appears to be an Heteractis magnifica. Symbiosis means that they provide benefit to each other.” Sherlock looked up. “The kettle is boiling, John.”

John nodded, turned, quickly made the tea, and turned back to Sherlock. “Ready?”

“Quite.” Sherlock tucked the book into the bag at his feet. “We’ll continue our story later, hm?” he said to Benjamin.

Quite seriously, Benjamin replied, “Feish.”

 

**Thursday, 9:05AM**

Sherlock had spent the majority of the trip on his phone. After strapping Benjamin in (quite well – John checked), he’s gotten in on the passenger side, and aside from a mumbled, “Fine,” in response to John’s question about whether the music he’d put on was alright, and the occasional sip from the travel mug of tea, Sherlock made no noise.

Neither did Benjamin, sound asleep in his car seat. Surprisingly. Usually he babbled during car trips, but he’d fallen asleep nearly as soon as Sherlock had strapped him in.

 _Will_ , John thought. _I need to remember he’s called Will this weekend._

“Do I understand that you are acquainted with the suspected next victim?”

“Yes. The major and I served in the same unit.”

“You called in a tip.”

It wasn’t a question, but somewhere in the phrase was a request for more information. “Yes. He and I were chatting and I just had a funny feeling about this weekend. It seemed to line up with something I’d read in the papers about a recent string of murders.”

“Good instinct. Lestrade has a team on call at the hotel. If you suspect anything, tell me that Hamish needs something. Food means you have information, to be changed means imminent danger to the victim, a toy means imminent danger to anyone in range.”

John was silent, suddenly realizing that he was taking his young son into a situation fraught with potential danger.

“I have no intention of letting it go that far,” Sherlock’s voice was steady and John could see him look up out of the corner of his eye. “Your son will be safe. As will you.”

“Right.” John felt himself relax at the steady confidence in Sherlock’s voice and gave a passing thought, again, that that was more than a bit odd.

 

**Thursday, 7:45PM**

 

The child was growing increasingly tired. John had said that Benjamin was usually asleep around 7:30, but so far, aside from periodically looking at Sherlock and asking for Da, he showed no sign of actually sleeping.

After sleeping most of the way to the resort, he had not napped in the afternoon as John had said was his usual way. Instead Benjamin and Sherlock had spent the afternoon exploring the grounds. They’d discovered a small lake and had admired the ducks there. When it had become time for food, they’d returned. John had joined them shortly thereafter and had taken care of actually feeing Benjamin. He’d gone back downstairs at 6:30 for some sort of reception and Sherlock had taken care of changing Benjamin into something to sleep in and had put on something more casual himself hoping that, once John returned, he would be able to poke about around the resort a bit.

They’d spent the last hour sitting on the floor while Benjamin stacked blocks and knocked them over again. Sherlock had briefly tried a story, thinking perhaps that would work to convince the child to sleep. The book had been summarily dismissed.

Benjamin yawned and dropped the blocks he was holding back onto the floor before crawling over to Sherlock and settled himself in Sherlock’s lap. “Hello, there, Bee. Are you sleepy now?”

“Da.”

“Da, huh?” Perhaps if he John could just come up and see the child to bed. At his estimate, Sherlock had maybe another 15 minutes before the child grew too tired and started to cry. Sherlock considered texting, but worried that John would miss it. Nothing for it, then, he said “Alright, then little Bee. Let’s go find your father.”

Sherlock stood, tucking the child to his side and made his way down to the reception.

Meanwhile, John stood talking to Alan Stainbridge, trying to figure out a graceful way out of what was becoming an increasingly awkward conversation.

“So where’s that lovely wife of yours?”

“London, I believe.”

“Didn’t want to come to a boring medical conference? Better for you then, hey? Left her home with the boy?” The man was too jovial by half.

“Benjamin is with me this weekend.”

“Didn’t think the resort provided babysitting.”

“I have his nanny with me.”

“That’s convenient, what?”

“Pardon?” John frowned. This was beginning to feel a bit like a Monty Python sketch.

“Wife gets to stay in London and shop, you get to bring your _nanny_ with you on a minibreak.” The way the man said the word _nanny_ made it clear that he thought –

Before John could correct the statement, there was a hand on his lower back. “John?”

John looked up to find Sherlock, holding a very sleepy Benjamin. “Yes,” there was a slight hesitation as John searched for the right name, “Will?” If the man had been attractive in his trousers and button down, he was devastating in jeans and a cardigan. John studiously attempted to ignore that and the heat that radiated out from that large hand.

“Sorry to interrupt. Benny wanted to say goodnight to Daddy.”

“Right. Sure.” He reached out and took Benjamin from Sherlock. “Sorry, Alan. I just need to see Benny to bed.”

The look on Alan’s face told John everything he needed to know about the sorts of questions he was likely to face when he returned to the opening night reception.

In the lift on the way to the room, John decided he wouldn’t be returning to the reception. He would claim that Benny had been extra fussy if anyone asked. With John in the room with Benjamin for the rest of the evening, Sherlock excused himself to do a bit of what he called _poking about_.

 

**Friday, 28 June, 7:49AM**

 

“Are you sure you’ll be ok?” John asked, gathering his binder and phone and room key. 

Sherlock was sitting on the floor with his back against the bed and Benjamin in his lap. They were reading about the feish again. Without looking up, he said, “Yes, of course.”

“It’s just – have you slept?”

Sherlock looked up at John, frowning in confusion. On looking at John’s face, his expression cleared, becoming one of mild amusement. “I promise one night without sleep will have no bearing on my ability to function. You’ll be late for breakfast if you don’t go now.”

“Do you need –“

“Just go, John. I promise I am fully able to care not just for your child, but for myself as well.”

John nodded, checked his pocket for his room key, “Right. I’ll be off. Will pop in around lunch.”

Sherlock offered a half-wave, but seemed thoroughly engrossed in the book before John made it to the door.

He was barely in the door to the room where breakfast was being served before he regretted leaving the room.

“John, lovely to see you,” greeted Jenna White. She was an acquaintance, nothing more. American. Married to an actor, if memory served.

“Jenna, hello.”

“Alan tells me you’ve brought your nanny.” Her tone was too arch. Too bright.

John fought to keep the grimace from his face. “Yes. Benjamin’s nanny is with me as Mary is not.”

“Having a bit of difficulty there?”

“Well, she has divorced me, so not any longer, no,” John kept his tone even.

He hadn’t meant to say that, of course, but the way it wiped the smug, knowing look from Jenna’s face made John feel _slightly_ as though it had been worth it.

John had never punched a woman, but her next question made him question whether his moral code really prevented him from doing so.

“So,” she began carefully, “she’s trusted you with the child?”

Equally carefully, John replied, “As I have sole custody, she had little choice in the matter.”

“Was it your boyfriend?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That lovely young man who came to get you last night. I assume he’s why she’s left you? I noticed you didn’t return. I’m surprised Mary would let go of custody if –“

John did not give her the opportunity to continue. “He is the nanny and he had absolutely nothing to do with – Excuse me.”

John wanted to turn around and walk back out of the room. Instead, he went to the drinks table, made himself a cup of tea, piled a plate with breakfast, and found a seat at a table where he most assuredly recognized no one.

 

**Friday, 10:15AM**

 

When John checked his phone at the morning break, he was surprised to see a message from “Will”.

William Scott: Benjamin and I would like to know if you want to join us for lunch outside.

William Scott: Yes, I programmed my number into your phone.

John Watson: My phone is password protected.

William Scott: In a manner of speaking, yes.

William Scott: Lunch?

John Watson: Yes. Alright.

William Scott: We’ll pick something up and meet you by the entrance.

John Watson: Pick something up from where?

William Scott: 

William Scott: Fish alright?

John Watson: Where are you?

William Scott: You’re going to be late to the second half of the session. We’ll see you at noon.

 

**Friday, 12:05PM**

 

John refused – completely and utterly refused – to think about what the sight of Sherlock standing with Benjamin did to his heart.

He didn’t, after all, know the man at all. The man who was only there for a case involving potential serial murders. Never mind that he looked completely natural holding the child. Surely it was because someone was caring for his own progeny with such care and therefore had absolutely nothing to do with the person doing the caring.

As he got closer though, he realized that Sherlock’s face was a bit too serious.

 _Right_ , John thought. _Food means information. Sherlock’s found something out._ John wondered, briefly, if he should be concerned that Sherlock had figured something out when he was meant to be watching Benjamin, but as Benjamin looked well and happy, he decided to trust it was fine.

_And he does appear to have food, too._

Sherlock led the way outside after handing John the food to carry.

Once they were settled, Sherlock said, “You’re in the same afternoon session as the major.”

“Am I?”

Sherlock, by the simple expedient of raising a well-sculpted brow managed to convey both _clearly_ and _your brain appears to be missing_ without actually seeming to convey anything intended as an insult. John frowned. Sherlock continued, “If quite convenient, please try to sit well away from him and observe him and anyone who approaches him.”

“Am I looking for something in particular or just gathering information?”

The look Sherlock favored him with after that question was filled with approbation. “The individual will, I think, be overly familiar with him. Will touch him.” Sherlock nodded at the question on John’s face. “Yes, precisely. The major does not like to be touched. The other three that have died did so in their sleep. I suspect there is a different fate in store for our major, but the individual will need to be close to do so. I found the room and some hints at evidence, but I will need to know who, exactly, the individual is in order to gather the rest of what will be needed for the police to move in on it.”

“Would it not be better if I sat right next to him then?”

“No. Your bearing is too clearly military. You will look like you are there as a body guard, despite better medical credentials than his. His actual guards blend in far better than you will.”

John decided he didn’t particularly want to know why Sherlock knew what his own medical credentials were, let alone the major’s.

And he definitely didn’t want to think about the fact that it seemed entirely likely that Sherlock knew the credentials of almost everyone at the conference and what that meant about the person he was trying to uncover in the middle of a session on the spread of infectious diseases in private practice settings.

“You weren’t going to be paying attention to the session anyway,” Sherlock said mildly, holding out a piece of carrot for Benjamin to gnaw on.

John tilted his head. “Are you sure you don’t have children?”

“Hm?”

Shaking his head, John said, “It’s just – honestly, I think you’re better with Benny than I am. Certainly far better than his mother was.”

Sherlock looked down at Benjamin. “He’s a good child. Hardly complicated to take care of.”

“Right. So what have you two been up to then?”

“We walked the town for a bit.” Seeing John’s look of confusion, “The hotel has strollers available. Benjamin and I discussed the anatomy of seagulls.”

“Sa!” Benny clapped his hands together.

“Yes, very good. Rissa Tridactyla.”

John grinned.

And was still grinning when Sherlock looked up at him again. “What?”

“You’re teaching him the latin names then?”

“As well as the common ones, of course.”

“Right. Of course. What are your plans for the afternoon?” John asked, thinking perhaps the three of them could go to Drusillas Park.

“According to your notes, he naps from 1-4. Your afternoon session is over at 4:30. I imagine we will simply stay in the room until you return.”

“Oh. Right. Of course.” John had completely forgotten the afternoon session. And watching out for the major. John glanced at his watch. “I should be getting back. I’ll see you in the room around 4:30.” John stood and tried not to regret that this wasn't a vacation as he made his way back to the hotel entrance.

 

**Friday, 4:45PM**

 

“I think I have it narrowed down to one of three people,” John said without preamble, once the door to the room was closed. 

“Oh?” Sherlock looked up from where he and Benny were stacking blocks.

“I also found out that the major is staying in his room tonight, so unless you expect they’ll try to get into his room, it’s not happening tonight.”

“The major is under very surreptitious but effective guard. If he’s in his room, he will be fine. Tomorrow, then, I imagine. Probably at the closing dinner. Can you point out the three when I come find you to put Benjamin to bed later? Once I have an idea of who it might be, I can start working on the plan.”

“I should be able to, yes. Around 7:45 again?”

“I imagine so, yes. Possibly slightly earlier. Bee didn’t nap long and we have had a very full day.”

John just shook his head. “Right.” Because clearly a man without children would understand that. “Sorry. Do you have a girlfriend with children?”

“No.”

John would have given anything to see Sherlock’s face. “No girlfriend or your girlfriend doesn’t have children,” he heard himself asking. He was beginning to wonder if he’d somehow developed exceptionally poor impulse control. And how long his tenuous grasp on it would hold before Sherlock ran screaming.

“Girlfriends…are not really my area.”

“Boyfriend, then?”

“Do I have one or does my boyfriend have children?” If Sherlock found the questions odd, nothing in his voice gave it away.

“Yes.” John shook his head. “Either? I don’t know. Never mind.” John desperately wanted to know something more. Something that would explain why Sherlock was good with children despite every other indicator that he shouldn’t be. Perhaps something that would also tell him if he could make some sort of advance on the man. Never mind that it was hardly an appropriate time and he was likely far out of John’s league. And never mind as well that it should really wait until after the weekend, what with a potential murderer on the loose. And the fact that he’d signed his divorce papers less than 48 hours ago.

“I am single. I have had minimal exposure to children outside of being one years ago.” Sherlock sighed then cleared his throat. “I did some reading before turning up at your flat, John. It’s really not that complicated.” John was glad to find that he sounded more amused than anything.

John felt himself relax and was surprised to find that he had been tense in the first place. “Right. Sorry. It’s just I think you’re maybe better at that than Benny’s mother ever was.”

“Not every woman is maternal, John.”

“Right, yeah. Of course.”

“Also, she’s been rather preoccupied by her lover.”

“How did you?”

“Two scents, but not layered. One was incidental to the scent she herself prefers and neither matched the one you wear.”

“Oh.”

“You should head back downstairs. We will see you in a couple hours.”

As John headed back to the conference, he tried to convince himself that he was interested in Sherlock because of the very easy way he interacted with John’s child and his thrilled interest in the ongoing investigation. John had not gone to war because he liked fighting – but he did appreciate exposure to danger. There was nothing like the thrill of a less than guaranteed victory to get the blood racing.

And maybe a little bit because the man was attractive and they were spending a fair amount of time in close proximity.

And it certainly had nothing to do with the way Sherlock had been sprawled out on the floor.

Or the way John’s imagination had helpfully supplied a variety of possibilities for how Sherlock would look in a similar position. On a bed. Without clothes.

John Watson gave his imagination a very thorough talking to and promised his libido that, once they were back in London, he would look into getting a regular Friday night babysitter organized so that he could get laid from time to time.

The last time had been Benjamin’s conception and that was clearly too long ago.

Since he wasn’t generally inclined to pursue other men.

 

**Saturday, 29 June, 1:04AM**

Sherlock was cursing the set of circumstances that had distracted him and made him – well. Hopefully no one, not Lestrade and certainly not Mycroft would find out what had happened. He had just a few more stairs and a quick jaunt down the hallway and he would be back in the room. 

It was a shame, really, that the doctor appeared to flirt with every third thing he said. In general, Sherlock ignored his libido, but the short, blond, evidently straight doctor had reminded him just how long it had been since his last foray into such things. Perhaps after this wrapped up he would take a day or two before taking on another case to set himself to rights.

Sherlock poked his head out to make sure the hallway was clear before making his way gingerly to the door to the room. If he could just get inside and into the bathroom he could look and see just how bad his leg was. Certainly walking up the stairs had been quite painful, but surely it couldn’t be that bad.

He slid keycard in and pushed the door open when the light turned green.

\----

_John Hamish Watson – God I hate my middle name – Why are you still thinking about this? Men? Not really your thing. Fully determined in your 23 rd year after that whole swimming pool incident._

_Mostly fully determined. There was that one leave._

_And that absolutely amazing blow job the last night out before your wedding._

_And yes, ok, Sherlock has very nice hair. Pretty eyes, too._

_And that mouth would likely look absolutely incredible stretched –_

_Stop it. He is helping protect a friend of yours. A friend who otherwise may end up quite dead. And your child. The child asleep across the room at this very minute._

_And you’re not great about hiding your thoughts in general and he’s certainly very good at reading --_

_Oh. Of Fuck. Oh blood buggering._

_He knows. Of course he knows. That’s why he never stays in the room at night._

_It’s only been two nights. Well, a night and a half. He could return. It’s not that late._

_Well, yes, but he hasn’t slept at all._

_Unless he slept while Benjamin napped._

_He said Ben didn’t nap well, though, so it can’t have been much._

_Where is he, anyway? He said he’d be right back and that was_ John checked the clock _four hours ago._

Almost as though his thoughts had summoned the man, John heard the slick slide of the keycard in the lock. He sat up, but didn’t turn the light on, his hand sliding under his pillow where his gun lay and sliding it out and under his thigh as the door opened. The light from the hall showed that it was, in fact, Sherlock and he relaxed.

“John?” Sherlock whispered.

“Everything ok?” John whispered back as he glanced toward the divider behind which Benjamin was sleeping. There was a pause. “Sherlock?”

“Yes. Yes, everything’s fine.”

John watched as Sherlock made an awkward turn and hissed in pain. In a flash, John was out of bed and at Sherlock’s side. He herded the taller man into the bathroom, shut the door, and flipped the light on.

There was a tear in his right trouser leg and a long, ragged-looking cut in his calf.

“Clearly fine. Let me go grab the kit from my bag. Just sit on the counter.”

“I can –”

“I’m sure you can, but I am a doctor so you may as well let me do it.” John left before Sherlock could argue further.

As John secured the bandage after cleaning the wound, he looked up at Sherlock, leaving his hand curled around Sherlock’s now bare calf. “So. What happened?”

Sherlock mumbled something that sounded like, “Tree.”

“Sorry?”

Sherlock’s lips tightened, but he said more clearly, “I fell out of a tree.”

John stifled his laugh. Barely. “Oh?”

Sherlock cleared his throat and looked just past John’s head. “I’m fairly certain it’s Elliott Davies, the third man you pointed out.”

“The photographer?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, unless I can find a way into the party tomorrow night, I don’t know that we can get enough proof for the arrest. I’ve contacted Lestrade to have officers on hand, just in case, but –”

“But without proof they may be able to stop the murder but not actually have enough to make an arrest.”

“Yes.”

“Do you have any ideas?”

“Seven.”

“And?”

“I had 10.”

“What happened?”

As dryly as possible, Sherlock said, “I fell out of a tree.”

John Watson bit his tongue to prevent the laugh that threatened, but gave into the impulse to grin and was gratified that Sherlock grinned back.

John gave a quick nod, and straightened, removing his hand from Sherlock's leg. “Right. Did you need help setting up the rollaway? We can probably turn the light on without waking Benny.”

“There is no rollaway.”

“Oh.”

“I’ll just sit in the chair. I’m unlikely to sleep anyway.” Sherlock frowned at the flash of guilt on John’s face. “No. That’s not why I didn’t return last night.”

“Oh.”

“Just go back to bed, John. I will endeavor not to keep you awake.”

 

**Saturday, 2:28AM**

 

“You could just come lay down on the other side of the bed,” John said quietly. “It’s quite big enough and I promise not to flail. Elevating your leg will help with both the bruising and the wound itself. 

“It’s fine.”

“Or I can take the chair and you can take the bed.”

“It’s fine. I’m fine here.”

“Or I can just sit at the end of this very comfortable bed to prove that I am every bit as stubborn as you, you ass.”

There was a significant pause and John was preparing to sit up when Sherlock said, “Right.”

John smirked into the dark as he heard Sherlock stand carefully, pad to the edge of the bed, and gingerly lower himself onto it. He fell asleep, still smirking, 5 minutes later.

 

 **Saturday, 12:20PM**

 

As John joined Sherlock and Benjamin for lunch, he said, “I have an idea.” _A potentially rather brilliant idea_ , John thought. 

“Oh?” Sherlock sounded…less convinced of John’s brilliance, potential or otherwise.

“If we can find a sitter for Benny, you can come with me to the dinner tonight.”

“Sorry?”

“Well, normally it’s the sort of thing spouses would attend. According to the registration, Mary’s still with me, so there’s room at the table.”

“It will seem odd if you bring your child care person, surely.”

“Yes, well, everyone seems to think I’m sleeping with the nanny anyway.” John flushed. He hadn’t intended to share that bit of information.

“I’m surprised.”

“By?”

There was a pause. “You don’t seem the sort of person to encourage those rumors,” Sherlock said dryly.

“I’m not. Not that type of person or actually encouraging the rumors, but I would like to help with the investigation in any way I can and as a guest, you’d have quite a bit of freedom to do whatever you needed to do.”

Sherlock nodded once.

After a moment, John decided the nod had indicated agreement with the plan. “But we do have to sort out a sitter for Benny.”

“I will make arrangements.”

“Know a local teen in need of forty quid?” John meant it as a joke, but his brief interactions with the man lead him to believe that, really, anything was possible.

“The major’s security detail has three people. One of them will be free for the evening.”

“Oh.” John supposed that a personal security person serving as a babysitter would make Benjamin among the most well-protected things in the building for the evening.

“What time should I be ready?” Sherlock slid John a coy look that was entirely adds with his personality.

John laughed. “Oh, give over. You know.”

Sherlock smiled. Looking back down at Benny, he said, “It’s a good plan, though. Thank you.”

“I never asked,” John said, taking a sip of his drink, “Why are you doing this?”

“Favor to a friend, actually.”

“Oh,” John cringed at his own slightly disappointed tone. _What on earth is wrong with me_ , John thought as he contemplated the sort of friend that could ask such a favor from this man. _It has nothing to do with me._

“Not that kind of friend,” Sherlock said mildly.

John brightened slightly, nodded, mentally kicked his own arse, finished his sandwich, and stood. “Right. I’m off. See you in the room by 5.”

“I will be waiting with bells on.”

John snorted and gave a quick wave as he walked away.

“Well, Bee,” Sherlock said to Benjamin a few minutes later, scooping up the boy and a stuffed toy in one motion. “Let’s go get you a nap while I do a bit of poking around before tonight. There are plans to make.”

 

**Saturday, 6:16PM**

 

“Not wearing a tie, then?” John asked, coming out of the bathroom and looking to where Sherlock stood at the window, Benny on his hip.

Sherlock frowned and looked down at what he was wearing. “I will if it’s necessary. But no. I rather hate them.”

John smiled. “Not necessary. Just asking.” In truth, the man looked far better dressed than John despite his lack of neckwear. The jacket that went with the trousers he’d been wearing Thursday was clearly custom. Of course, with his long frame, John imagined anything would look quite good.

“You’re wearing one.”

“I – yes. I lack your model good looks.” Whatever John had meant to say, that wasn’t precisely it. He was prevented from hearing whatever response Sherlock might make by a knock at the door. Sherlock walked past, checked to see who it was, and stepped aside to let in –

A tiny older woman whose face lit up at the sight of Benjamin.

“Ah, and this must be your little boy.”

“Yes. Martha, this is Benjamin,” Sherlock made the introduction

“Bee-ee!” Benny said holding out his hand and batting at the air.

“Yes, very well. Benny.”

“Hello, Benny,” Martha said, taking the outstretched hand. “I understand you’re my date for the evening.”

“His sleep things are laid out on the bed,” Sherlock said. John looked and was surprised to see that that was, in fact, the case.

“The other two are already downstairs with the major. Your brother rearranged the tables so that you are sitting with the major in the very center of the room. It should be easy to tell from there if the photographer is getting too close.”

“I take it Gregson has arrived as well.”

“Yes, and he’s brought that married man who is sleeping with one of the other officers.”

“Why on earth – Oh. Fine. Yes. Thank you.”

“Any time, dear. Mind, I expect you two back as soon as it’s over. I’m not your babysitter.”

“Well, you are a bit.”

“Unless you’re paying me, no. I most certainly am not,” her tone was utterly belied by the fond smile she gave Sherlock as she patted him on the cheek then took Benjamin from him.

John had the good sense to wait until they were in the elevator to question Sherlock on it. “That was one of the guards?”

“Yes. She’s quite good, actually. Even more so because no one expects her to be able to incapacitate a full-grown man as quickly as she is able to do. She’s a very good shot as well.”

John grinned at the mental image of the petite woman taking on someone twice her size and winning. It was amusing.

 

**Saturday, 8:45PM**

 

As the audio cued up for the video presentation, John slid his chair slightly closer to Sherlock for a better view. Sherlock leaned in to whisper that the officers were in place to make the arrest as soon as Elliott made his move. John nodded.

As the voice droned on, John draped his arm around the back of Sherlock’s chair to look casually around the room. As the video drew to a close, John stiffened slightly when Sherlock’s hand came to rest on his knee. The photographer had reappeared in the room.

Any immediate action was prevented by the arrival of Jenna.

“So, this your nanny then?” she asked John.

“Er, yes. This is Will. Will, this is Jenna.”

“Pleasure,” Sherlock nodded a greeting.

“Are you two enjoying the events of the evening?”

“Yeah, the dinner was lovely.” John carried on the conversation while Sherlock continued to look around the room.

“And the video was dry as toast.”

“Well, yes,” allowed John.

“I hear there will be dancing in a bit.” Her eyes flicked down to where Sherlock’s hand rested on John’s knee. “Known each other a while?” she said dryly, looking at John and clearly questioning his earlier assertion that the other man was there strictly as a nanny.

“How is your husband?” Sherlock asked, suddenly rejoining the conversation. “Enjoying his stay at Birchwood?”

Her eyes narrowed.

“Sh – Will,” John said in warning.

Sherlock looked down. “Not good?”

John suppressed a smile and shook his head. He slid his hand up to the back of Sherlock’s neck and gave it a quick squeeze. “I’m going to grab another drink. Want something?” Sherlock shook his head. “Jenna? Join me?”

If she found the request odd, she was gracious about it and when they returned, she seemed, to Sherlock, to have mellowed.

She sat down across from them when John slid back into his seat next to Sherlock.

“So, Will. John says you’ve given up your weekend to help him out. That was very kind of you.”

“It was hardly his or Bee – Benjamin’s fault that Mary failed to follow through on her promise.”

“Still. John’s just been telling me how good you’ve been with his son.”

“John is very kind.” Sherlock, after replying, effectively removed himself from the conversation by turning to engage the major in conversation, leaving John to talk to Jenna. What they talked about John had no idea. He was distracted by Sherlock’s hand, once again on his knee.

He eventually became aware that Sherlock was tapping something out in morse code. Oh. _Oh_. SOS. John looked around and saw that the photographer was making his way to each table in turn. He set his hand on top of Sherlock’s to let him know he’d got the message. Sherlock leaned in to speak directly in John’s ear.

“I almost missed it. Your hand on my back is a bit distracting. Can you take Jenna back to her table? The major and I are going to slip out the side and when Elliott follows, they’ll make the arrest.”

John nodded and looked back to Jenna. John suppressed a grimace and suggested they go back to her table so that he could say hello to Alan, who he hadn’t spoken to since the first day. It was the last thing John wanted to do, but it was the easiest way to remove her from the table. She agreed, said goodbye to Sherlock and the major, and they made their way back across the room.

Within the hour, an arrest had been made. Unfortunately, it took nearly two and a half hours to answer questions and fill out his part of the reports before Sherlock could rejoin John. John, for his part, had been waiting for Sherlock and filling the interim with free drinks once he knew the whole thing was being wrapped up.

He’d managed to extract himself and was watching those who were still there dance when he became aware that he was no longer alone. He looked up and saw Sherlock standing next to him.

“You could dance, you know,” Sherlock said.

“I’m not much of a dancer. Everything turn out ok?” Sherlock nodded. After a pause, John asked, “What about you?”

“What about me, what?”

“Do you like to dance?”

“Yes. I don’t do it often, of course.”

“You should go ask someone.”

“I – that would be odd. I know no one here except you.”

“You’ve met Jenna.”

Sherlock all but glared.

John stood. “Right, then."

"Time to go?"

“No.” John smiled up at him. “Time to dance. Come on.” John held out his hand. Sherlock just stared. John slowly lowered it to his side. “Or not. We certainly don’t have to. But I will if you’d like.”

“Are you sure?”

“Definitely. Especially if you let me lead.”

 

**Sunday, June 29, 12:31AM**

 

As it turned out, dancing had been very tame foreplay. After a couple of songs, Sherlock had maneuvered them out onto a patio just outside the doors. He had been, at that point, quite direct. Certainly more direct than John had been prior to their stepping outside. 

“I can’t tell if you’re interested in men in general or me in particular or if you just flirt unintentionally,” Sherlock had said once they were outside. John hadn’t known quite how to respond. “Because if you’re interested in me…”

He’d made it no further as John inserted himself into Sherlock’s personal space and pressed a quick kiss to his lips. Sherlock had smiled.

There had been a few more quick kisses, an elevator ride, then…

“Can you be quiet?” John had one hand around the back of Sherlock’s neck as they stood, forehead to forehead, just outside the elevators.

“Fuck. John. Yes. Yes.”

John couldn’t ever remember being kissed quite so thoroughly as Sherlock kissed him then. On the other hand, John gave back as good as he got. He buried his hands in Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock curled his hands around John’s hips, pulling them together. John groaned at the twin sensation of an erection pressed against his stomach while his own erection pressed firmly against Sherlock’s thigh.

Sherlock pulled his lips away and set his forehead against John’s. “We should go to the room.”

“Yes.”

“Martha’s there.”

“Fuck.”

“Quite.”

John took a step back. Sherlock straightened up. John reached up and smoothed Sherlock’s hair. Sherlock smoothed the front of John’s shirt and retrieved the keycard from John’s pocket.

Sherlock slid the keycard into the slot, unlocked the door, and they walked in. Martha was waiting.

“I thought you two would be back a bit earlier,” she said, her serious tone belied by the teasing look in her eyes. Eyes which clearly took in everything they’d tried to straighten away.

“I, uh, had to help with paperwork?” Sherlock replied, his slight hesitation betraying the half-lie of his response. “Thank you for staying.”

“Of course dear.” She walked to the door where Sherlock was waiting. With her hand on the handle, she turned and addressed John – now standing half way across the room – and Sherlock, “And please do be quiet. The poor dear hasn’t been sleeping well this evening and he’s only just gone down again.”

John blushed scarlet.

Sherlock hastened Martha Hudson out of the room.

John was standing looking toward the partition behind which his son slept.

“Ok?” Sherlock asked.

“Very.” John let his head drop back against Sherlock’s chest.

John felt Sherlock nuzzle the top of his head before Sherlock’s lips were at his ear.

“You can just go to bed if you want,” Sherlock said.

“I could, yes,” John turned in the circle of Sherlock’s arms. “But I’d much rather not.”

John slid his hands into Sherlock’s hair and tugged his head down for a kiss.

Unlike their kisses in the elevator and hallway, this was slow. Deliberate. Sherlock was the one to pull away, taking a step back to remove his suit jacket and unbutton his shirt, his eyes never leaving John’s.

John followed suit, tugging off his loosened tie then removing his jacket and shirt as well. Sherlock had stopped to watch, his shirt loose and unbuttoned, but still on. John stepped forward and pushed it off, bending his head forward to nip at Sherlock’s chest as he did so.

In some distant part of his brain, John wondered why this, of all things, should feel so natural. Sherlock’s hands glided down John’s back only to dip just below the waist of his trousers. John made a sort of half noise, his head tipping back to look up. Before he could embarrass himself by begging for something he couldn’t quite explain, Sherlock kissed him again while his too-clever fingers unbuckled, unbuttoned, unzipped, and removed those same trousers. John tried to make his fingers return the favour, but they kept stopping to explore the fascinating play of muscles along Sherlock’s back, abdomen, hips.

With a noise of frustration, John pulled his head away to look down, willing his hands to cooperate. Sherlock, with a low chuckle, took pity and in short order both men were naked. As they stumbled toward and then tipped onto the bed, something more important than who would be where occurred to John.

Mindful of the sleeping child on the other side of the partition in the room, John kept his voice soft as he asked, “I don’t suppose you have…”

“Fuck.”

“So no then?”

“No.” Sherlock rolled off and sat up. John immediately missed the warmth of another body. “No, I was hardly expecting this to be a part of my activities for the weekend.”

“Nor did I.”

Sherlock eyed John’s erection. “I could try to find a shop.”

“Could do.”

“Or there’s lotion and a hand job.”

“Or that.” John knew he sounded disappointed.

Sherlock huffed out a laugh. Then John was laughing, neither stopping until Sherlock leaned over and kissed John again.

Sherlock pulled away. John groaned in frustration and tried to follow him.

“Lotion. Stay there.”

John watched in the dim light of the bedside lamp as Sherlock strode across the room to the bathroom. He didn’t bother to flick on the light, grabbing the sample bottle of lotion and returning to the bed.

Even after the fact, John was hard-pressed to say in exactly what order things happened. All he could really say was that they were kissing and suddenly a warm, slick palm was gliding its way down his cock with single-minded purpose. There was a subtle roll to Sherlock’s wrist that dragged delightfully and when Sherlock dragged a finger across John’s slit, John was grateful that Sherlock had the presence of mind to make sure he swallowed John’s moan.

As he felt his balls tighten, he started to warn Sherlock, but there was a complicated movement of fingertips and a warm, wet kiss to the side of his neck and he was spilling over Sherlock’s hand and onto his own stomach.

As the white noise faded, he became aware of Sherlock moving beside him. He opened slightly drowsy eyes to see Sherlock stroking himself lazily, flat on his back one arm behind John’s head. John rolled on to his side and slid a hand down Sherlock’s side, pressing open mouthed kisses to Sherlock’s neck and chest as his fingers joined Sherlock’s. Sherlock hummed his appreciation and thrust up once. John slid his hand down to stroke Sherlock’s perineum in smooth circles.

“Fuck. John. Don’t –” John’s fingers stopped moving. Sherlock’s head jerked up. “Don’t stop.” John hid a smirk in Sherlock’s shoulder, his fingers resuming their stroking. “Ah. God.”

John stretched up to whisper in Sherlock’s ear. “You have to be quiet, remember?” And nipped at Sherlock’s ear.

Sherlock stiffened and came with a gasp. John moved his hand to Sherlock’s hip and rubbed circles on it with his thumb. Eventually Sherlock half turned and kissed John. The spent a lazy couple minutes kissing before John pulled away and rolled off the side of the bed. When he got to the door of the bathroom, he looked back at Sherlock, propped up on one elbow, watching him.

“Shower?”

Sherlock levered himself off the bed and joined John in the bathroom where they took a lazy shower before returning to bed.

 

**Sunday, 30 June, 6:40AM**

 

John drifted back to awareness at the sound of a low voice saying, “Be good for your daddy, Bee,” but before he could fully drag himself into consciousness, he heard the door to the room open and close again.

Suddenly he was very awake. His phone buzzed with an incoming text.

Sherlock Holmes: My brother sent a car for me. I’m on my way back to London.

Sherlock Holmes: I changed my name on your phone.

Sherlock Holmes: Thank you for your help.

John carefully set his phone back on the table, got out of bed, and went about getting ready for his own drive back to London.

 _Well, John. What did you expect?_ _This was a job for him. Why would he –_

Sherlock Holmes: Feel free to text if you need anything.

Sherlock Holmes: Like babysitting.

Sherlock Holmes: Or anything.

 

**Tuesday, 13 August, 5:26PM**

 

Greg Lestrade was frustrated. Sherlock wouldn’t work with Anderson. Anderson was Lestrade’s forensics expert. Sherlock had said he’d call his own in, but they’d be standing around for 45 minutes waiting for this mysterious expert to show up.

When the cab pulled up to the edge of the tape, Sherlock strode across to meet man climbing out and Lestrade followed with Donovan.

Lestrade saw Sherlock stretch forward and take something before a shorter man paid his fare and climbed out of the cab. When Sherlock turned, Lestrade saw Sherlock holding child who appeared to be babbling at him.

“Hello, Bee. Did you have a good day with Mrs. Hudson?” Sherlock said as he tucked the child into his side. “Been watching telly again?”

Lestrade should be forgiven his confusion as the normally irascible detective pecked the cheek of the shorter man, turned to Lestrade and Donovan, and said, “Lestrade, this is John Watson and his son, Benjamin. He’s agreed to help me on this. Shall we?”


End file.
